Morsmordre
by Wisteria22
Summary: In this sequel to Hatstall, Alice Holmes is back after a terrifying first year at Hogwarts. Her best friend is diagnosed with cancer, Ginny Weasley is near death, and of course, an escaped convict making way towards the school! Will Alice survive this dance with death, or will the rhythm prove too much for the young Slytherin daughter of film stars? Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

_"Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so"_

-John Donne

* * *

Alice sat in a chair, the wood pressing into her back. Shackles confined her to it, and she glared at her captors, her hair disheveled and long cuts on her cheek bleeding slowly. Hissing at them, she struggled against her bonds.

"Let. Me. Go!" she shouted.

A man with a frock shook his head, delicately holding a crucifix. "There is a demon inside of you, child. Do you wish to remain possessed, a mere devil's plaything?"

Alice groaned, her eyes wide, almost feral. Another man approached her and expertly gagged her, all the while speaking in hushed tones about the dangers of witchcraft. _Edwina would love this,_ Alice thought, avoiding her distress for one moment. Edwina spent most of her time going off about the dangers of muggles—and here she had her proof.

"The Spanish Inquisition has given us authorization," the second man said solemnly. "Shall we start with the holy water?"

The priest nodded, grabbing a small, silver container. Plucking the cap off of it, he flung the water at Alice, with each drop striking her face. She writhed and screamed, desperately struggling against her bonds.

"CUT!" the director called. "That's a wrap on Holmes for the day—I need Sibley and Warren on set eight! We resume in five!"

Alice shrugged off the bonds, removing the gag gently. Her parents rushed over to greet her, going on and on about how brilliant she was, and how certain they were that she'd be made a success in no time. She nodded vaguely, cracking her knuckles and flexing her wrists.

Pretending to be possessed by the devil really made her stiff.

"Oh, darling, we've got to rush off," Edmund frowned. "Publicist—the Daily Mail—I'm sure you understand, dear. We'll catch up with you for dinner."

Alice nodded, and in a whirlwind, her parents left. Letting out a sigh of relief, she ventured towards the trailer, glad for the comfort and the solitude. Each time she closed her eyes, the corpse of Ginny Weasley came into her mind. She recalled Dumbledore rushing in and destroying the diary. She recalled McGonagall's fear stricken face as she stared at the Weasley girl.

"She could still be alive," Alice mumbled to herself.

She never went to see if Ginny truly was dead. School had ended without any announcement, out of privacy to the family. Alice was glad to not know. Ginny became Schrodinger's corpse—simultaneously alive and dead. If her mother had her way and she attended Ilvermorny in the fall instead, she would never have to drop the pretense. She would never have to know what had become of Ginny Weasley.

Grabbing the smudged handle of the trailer door, it swung open with the slightest bit of resistance, enough to irritate the young actress. The lights were off, but somehow, Alice had a feeling she was not quite along. Perhaps it was the incessant coughing that tipped her off.

"Edwina?" Alice stuttered, her eyes widening in surprise. "Bloody hell! What are you doing here?"

Flicking on the lights, Alice watched as her housemate stood up shakily from the sofa. Drenched entirely in sweat, a faint violet tint illuminated her pale skin, and Edwina smiled softly as she pulled her knit scarf around herself more tightly. Her clothes might as well have been sacks for the way they hanged upon her—it was as if half of Edwina had vanished, leaving behind a sickly creature instead.

"What the hell happened to you?" Alice blurted, taking a slight step back before her friend could respond.

"I have carcinodes…" Edwina said faintly, avoiding looking at Alice in the eye. "Witch's Carcinodes, I mean…"

Alice hadn't the faintest idea what that meant.

"Oh," Alice replied politely. "Well… That sucks."

Edwina raised a slight eyebrow, before shrugging a bit. Huddling more into the warmth of her light emerald cloak, her gaze wondered around the room before settling on the television set.

"I… I came to apologize to you," Edwina explained, as she approached the television and began to fiddle with a VHS tape. Within moments, she had pulled the tape out, staring at it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the universe. Trepidation characterized her more than any other emotion however—as intrigued by the tape as she was, she handled it like it was a snake, waiting to strike.

"What for?" Alice said. "And er… You aren't supposed to pull the tape out—it ruins the film."

"Oh," Edwina muttered, setting the mess down onto the tiny shelf. "Right. I… I'm sorry for the things I said about muggles—I know about your father and… I was wrong."

Alice's mind flickered back to the events of the previous school year, and she flinched. The corpse of Ginny Weasley swam in her mind, accompanied with the death threats and the revolting potion she had to consume to survive. Shuddering a bit, Alice looked away from her friend, facing the wall.

"Do you forgive me, Alice?" Edwina asked quietly. She tugged gently on a piece of her hair and it came out easily, the black strands practically wilting in her grasp.

Alice made no response, continuing to stare at the wall. Vividly, she remembered when Draco appeared to scream at her and berate her for her heritage—she remembered how Edwina advocated for the death of muggles and all related to them—she remembered the cruelty.

"Alice?" Edwina begged, her voice cracking.

"Of course I forgive you," Alice said dryly, still refusing to look at her. "Why wouldn't I?"

Edwina's eyes watered as she broke out into a smile. "Oh, thank Merlin… I was getting worried there, Al."

Alice laughed, turning around to face her friend. "That can't have been the only reason you came here—though… Have you ever been on television, Eddie?"

Edwina shook her head, another piece of hair delicately falling to the ground of the trailer. Alice didn't notice, horrific flashes continuing to burst through her mind in a devilish symphony.

"Would you like to be?" Alice grinned. "We're making a horror film and we have a Q&A with some fans of the comic series it's based off of… You can be on the panel, if you'd like."

Edwina's face twisted into disgust, yet a moment later, she regained her previous benign expression. Almost as if she was forcing this new outlook on life upon herself, Edwina nodded hesitantly, her eyes darting nervously up at the television.

"So… How do we get inside that?"

* * *

The comic book panel was not the only one that Alice and Edwina attended that day. By some odd stroke of luck, the two of them attended a press conference regarding the escape of a famous wizarding criminal—Sirius Black.

Edwina's uncle, a high ranking ministry official, had taken the two inside—Alice's parents were off at dinner with some up and coming director named Tim Burton, causing her to be sitting alone with the Fawleys.

"Thank you all for joining us today," Nora Ashworth, a curvy woman with an uncompromising glare said stiffly. Her ebony skin reflected the light beautifully, matching her deep blue uniform, accented with a badge that read: Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Ashworth is one of the top aurors we have," Edwina's uncle whispered, leaning over to the two girls. "She'll make department head in a few years, I expect."

Nora continued on, her unusually deep and powerful voice resonating throughout the small, cramped little conference room. For an assembly of wizards, the room was remarkably… mundane. A small water cooler served beverages towards the left, and blinds on the right made it practically impossible for anyone to see in—with the help of a few charms.

"We have reasons to believe that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. All other inmates at this time are accounted for. We have no knowledge of how this happened, and the dementors have no further information for us," Nora paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping around the room.

"Due to the severity of Black's crimes, he is to be regarded as hostile and dangerous. Do not engage with this individual alone—instead, contact magical law enforcement if you spot Black. Otherwise, you may very well end up like Peter Pettigrew—blasted to bits."

 _People need to stop making a martyr out of him,_ Alice thought, swinging her heels lightly in her seat. She couldn't help but notice the slight curve of Edwina's lips, or perhaps, the way her uncle leaned forward in expectation. Wizarding crime was no stranger to Alice—the magical drama scene was filled with it. Only a few months ago, a fan set a rabid sphinx on her mother—or perhaps, on her father? She couldn't quite recall.

Violence was rather normal for her.

"Any questions?" Nora asked, her lips pursed. "Please be reminded that any statements given here are on behalf of Magical Law Enforcement and do not reflect any… political… biases."

Instantly, a quivering hand shot up into the air. With a face like a twisted walrus and the eager impatience of a golden retriever, a dotty little witch practically threw herself at Nora, her magenta quill scribbling frantically before a single question was posed.

"Miss, where is Black headed? How can we possibly keep ourselves safe?" the witch asked, her words quick and her breath short. "Daily Prophet," she added as an afterthought.

Nora's lip twitched, and she stared the woman down, practically frightening her into submission. The witch still leaned forward, her quill scratching away, albeit at a slower pace. The entire room came to a pause, waiting with enormous expectation.

"We have reason to believe he is traveling towards Hogwarts," Nora said in a clipped voice. "Exercise reasonable precautions and no harm will come to you."

A man snorted derisively, his curly hair bobbing as he promptly stood up. He opened his mouth, about to add some sort of comment, before shaking his head and leaving the room, his cloak sweeping grandly as he shut the door behind him.

"Sherringford," Nora explained. "Always a charmer… Any more questions? No?"

"Ah, yes, yes, yes!" the same dotty witch from before exclaimed. "How can our children keep themselves safe? Should Hogwarts really be running with a mass murderer on the loose? Do you hate our youth, Miss…?"

 _Tabloid tactics,_ Alice scowled. It wasn't the behavior expected from the Prophet—it was more on line with what passed in the Quibbler, a conspiracy paper made by nut jobs for mental cases. She was no stranger to tabloids as well—her mother considered it a good day if only three tabloids made some reference to any member of the family.

"I don't have time to respond to straw-man arguments," Nora frowned sharply. "Any further questions can be taken by our intern—Goldie, you're up."

Nora stalked off the stage, only to be followed by a meek little German girl with brown hair. Her crooked nose made Alice smile wistfully, thinking of the mousy girl she knew at Hogwarts—Marie Nicholas. Alice had a strange feeling that Marie would one day be Head Girl—that is, if she could stop her habit of quoting and stalking all of the teachers. It had become something of a nuisance.

"Right," Goldie chuckled, swallowing nervously. "Any questions…can…be directed at…m-me."

Like a pack of starving sharks, the reporters all pounced on Goldie viciously. Alice shook her head silently, slouching back in her seat, and pretending that she was anywhere else. There was no point for her to listen to the hair brained ideas of some nut jobs—there were better things she could spend her time on! For instance, she had lines to memorize and a decision to make.

Would she be going back to Hogwarts that year?

* * *

Alice sipped her tea delicately, sitting at a large ornate table. The various bone china had been set in a haphazard manor, as their hosts couldn't tell the difference between a tea strainer and a whittling chip. Still, that didn't change the orange cream tea with heaps of sugar from being any less delicious.

"Thanks for letting us stay with you," Edmund smiled gratefully, helping to straighten up the tea.

John, Alice's paternal grandfather, merely nodded. An American, he had married Alice's grandmother, Wendy, shortly after he ended his term of service in the Vietnam war. The two had met together while abroad, both being assigned to the same general service area—Wendy served as a nurse, of course. The two of them fell madly in love, settling in England in order to be closer to Wendy's childhood home. Her parents and brother had already died a few years back, found dead on the floor during her time at university. And now, years later, they had settled back in America, preferring the open space and obnoxious politics for a few years.

And despite all of his years living in England, John Holmes still had no clue as to how to set a table for tea. Wendy was out for the day, gossiping with friends at her book club. Alice couldn't help but feel rather disappointed, a strange feeling telling her that seeing her grandmother would be rather beneficial.

"Are you going to… to, what was it, Goatwarts?" John asked, sipping his tea. He coughed a bit at the bitterness of it, before frantically grabbing tea.

"She hasn't decided yet," Dymphna cut in. "We're concerned about safety, ourselves—there was a lot of hazing going on in the previous year."

"And a murderer is heading towards the school," Edmund added with a frown. "It's a dreadful business—really is. I know I'd feel much safer if Ally went to another school for the year—one that understands how to keep students safe."

Alice quietly sipped her tea, allowing the grown-ups to talk for her. She knew that nothing they said would change her mind and that nothing she said would change theirs. For whatever reason, the danger of Hogwarts felt almost irrelevant to her—already, Alice knew she would return to the castle, for one reason or another.

As deadly as it was, it was her home. It wasn't the trailer on a film set and it wasn't a place selected for her—it was a place that she had chosen. No other school in the world could boast that.

"A murderer?" John's eyes shot up. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to Ally—but you know, she can always stay with us, we don't live too far from… the American one."

Dymphna nodded. "I think that's an excellent idea—she can visit you on the weekends, and if anything happens, her grandpa John can blow it to hell."

"Just like in Vietnam," John chuckled, his eyes darkening slightly. Despite all of the cosmetic upkeep and help that Dymphna came in terms of potions, time had gotten to him. Wrinkles were etched into his skin like canyons or canals, breaking up an otherwise smooth surface and forcing texture into it.

"It's settled, then," Edmund smiled. "Alice will stay here and—"

"I'm going to Hogwarts," Alice said stiffly, taking a sip of her tea. "I already decided—I have friends there."

None of the grown-ups heard her. They continued blathering on about whatever they decided suited them at the moment, the conversation ranging from Alice's school choices to the latest tax levied in America. She pouted a bit, getting up from the table, and wandering towards the doorway.

A letter flew in through the flap, landing on the carpet with impeccable timing. Alice grinned, recognizing already the special turn of the emerald ink on the parchment.

 _They really do know everything,_ Alice mused, opening up the letter. It was much like the first, only instead of congratulating her on her acceptance, it merely informed her that she had passed her first year courses and would be advancing to the second year. A list attached revealed the schoolbooks—thankfully, lacking those written by Lockhart.

Even though the idiot had died, she couldn't bear the thought of reading more of his writing. She had suffered enough the previous year; there was no need to go through that fine torture again.

"Mum! Dad! I need to get my supplies soon!" Alice shouted, shoving the letter inside her coat pocket.

Dimly, she could hear her mother oblige, instantly beginning to plan the trip with her father. Whether they realized she intended on attending Hogwarts or not, getting her supplies would be necessary. And due to the need to stay in America, going back to Diagon Alley would hardly be an option—instead, Horizant Alley would prove to be the better choice. Located in Boston, it was a shorter distance to travel.

"Are you sure about Hogwarts, sweetheart?" Dymphna shouted back. "You were nearly killed last year! Dying isn't as great as it seems, love… No matter what Donne may try to say!"

Alice nodded, returning to the family room. "I'm positive, Mum. Besides… Edwina has Witch's Carcinodes. She needs a friend."

She bit her lip slightly, hoping that the illness would be severe sounding enough to convince her mother. Since she last saw her friend, she hadn't had a moment to inquire as to what the disease was—as far as she could tell, it was no different than the mere common cold.

Dymphna's face sunk into pity. "Oh… I'm so sorry, my dear. How long does she have?"

Alice frowned a bit. Witch's Carcinodes was just a common disease, made to sound more dangerous than it actually was. Edwina wouldn't have anything dangerous. Twelve year olds didn't catch deadly diseases-only the elderly did. "I don't know—what do you mean, how long does she have?"

"Love, Witch's Carcinodes is fatal. In the muggle world, we have a term for it—cancer. There's no cure."


	2. Chapter 2

Alice fidgeted in her seat, looking on with boredom as her mother and father took to the stage. The starring couple in Shakespeare's _the Tempest,_ the two of them were not nearly as revolting as Romeo and Juliet were together—but yet, the dynamic between the two of them appeared forced. It was as if someone had spent hours upon a great illusion, only to have its perfection give it all away.

She bit her lip slightly, wondering how much of the imagined strain was produced by the acting—and how much of it was true.

The pair embraced, kissing, dancing, laughing, and hugging as the Italian king and the disgraced duke came to an agreement, allowing the pair to live on in happiness. The audience hesitated for a moment as the stage fell dark, before bursting into the most celebratory applause.

Alice groaned, waiting for the torment to be over. At times, it was magical having her parents to follow around the world, watching as they gave truth to the phantoms of people—or as they preferred to call them, characters. But she lacked the constancy and grounding pleasure of being able to call a home her own—of having familiar surroundings and knowing that she belonged somewhere.

Even as the terrors of the previous year remained fresh, Alice couldn't help but look forward to coming back to Hogwarts. Her room would be the same—her friends would be the same—almost everything would be the same… Her mind flickered to Edwina, and she shuddered in horror, a silent scream threatening to burst from her lips.

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here," Alice whispered, quoting the very play she had just attended. Shivering, she drew her coat closer around her, standing up and not even bothering to smooth her dress. The crowd began to depart, and Alice couldn't help but feel weary already—it would be a battle in itself to make it to the stage door.

Everyone would want to meet Miranda, to court Ferdinand, and to experience the joys of Ariel—it was too much for her, too much, too much, too much! Oh, that half the people in that room would have vanished from existence! The air thickened with their musky breath, each jostling limb sending an electric shock through her. Alice wanted nothing more than to crumple into a heap of misery and sorrow.

Instead, she shoved her way through the crowd, sucking in her gut at each maneveur. Imagining herself to be a ninja, Alice attempted to navigate without being touched or seen, but instead, she seemed to only bump into more people. Each jostle, shove, bump, touch, and faux pas only served to anger her, to the extent that her skin felt red.

"She's on fire!" an elderly woman screamed, recoiling after brushing up against Alice.

"Fire?! Fire!" a pair of college students shouted in unison, before dashing for the exit. Alice's own eyes widened in fear and alarm as she stared down at her arms, the realization happening sickeningly quick.

 _Underage magic! Morgana's cauldron!_ Alice frantically began rubbing her arm, blowing on it to try to cause it to cool, before any ministry officials could arrive. She scrambled her way over to the edge of the theatre, hugging the wall as she tried to accomplish her original goal—to make it to the stage door.

Unfortunately, the theatregoers had plunged into chaos. Men, women, children, and countless others were screaming and shoving, desperate to escape an imaginary fire. Panicked cries pierced the air, growing more and more numerous. A few people fell, struggling to get up, as the mob rushed for the door.

The entire world appeared to spin, and Alice shut her eyes tightly, desperate for it all to stop. The sounds died down quickly, and when she opened her eyes, she stood inside of the dressing rooms. Not a single soul was in sight.

"Mum? Dad?" Alice called out, slowly stepping forward. A stray program fluttered in from the stage, falling to rest on the ground. Despite already having her house filled with them, Alice couldn't help but stare at it—a photograph of her parents embracing was on the side, yet once again, an air of misery and falseness accompanied it.

"Is anyone there?" she repeated, taking delicate steps around, careful not to tread on anything.

There was no answer, but off in the distance, she could hear the ugly harmony of sirens. The sound, with a soft crescendo, became ever the more prominent—almost as if it was a deathly scream, rushing towards her. Picking up the program from the floor, she ripped it in half, tossing it aside and keeping the photograph it contained.

"Oh, Alice, darling!" Dymphna shouted, rushing into the room. "We've been looking everywhere for you! You didn't speak of that Scottish play did you, love?"

She shook her head, tugging on her raven locks. As an infant, she found it amusing to shout "Macbeth!" as loud as she could during performances. At first, it had been relatively harmless. By the time she was seven and her magic grew in spontaneity, it became relatively annoying—a majority of her parents' cast mates spent some time in the hospital.

Dymphna nodded, her blue eyes fluttering around distractedly. Grabbing onto her daughter's hand, she dragged Alice of the theatre, only stopping once they were reunited with Edmund outside on the pavement. A few constables were inspecting the scene, muttering about some "idiot" who shouted fire in a theatre.

"Everything alright?" Edmund asked, nursing a black eye.

"What did you do to your face?" Alice asked, frowning. "You look like a Hufflepuff that forgot the difference between a wand and a broomstick."

Edmund shook his head. "I don't… What… Never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

"He tripped because his shoes weren't tied," Dymphna giggled. "Serves him right, don't you think, Al?"

 _Sounds like something Marie would do,_ Alice thought. She couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt—as much as she loved Marie, she also insulted Hufflepuffs on a daily basis. It was part of the culture of Slytherin house.

They'd been cast into the roles of villains—there was no point in pretending to be anything else.

"I did nothing of the sort," Edmund sniffed. "At any rate, I've called a cab—once we get changed, we need to have a discussion about getting your supplies."

"My supplies?" Alice asked. "We need to wait for my letter to arrive—"

"It arrived this morning," Edmund smiled, pulling out the small envelope, marked with emerald ink. "Of course, I'm assuming you still want to go to Hogwarts…?"

Alice stared blankly at her father. "No, I think that I'd rather go to an international magic school done over radio—I heard they only have ten week school years, rather generous."

Her father sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you sure, sweetheart?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you're such a Hufflepuff, it's a miracle the hat isn't here to scream that out himself."

"I still have no idea what that means…" Edmund muttered, smiling awkwardly. "What is a Hufflepuff, dear?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

* * *

Dymphna and Edmund had a day of performances in Boston, and Alice, being eternally bored of Shakespeare, managed to persuade them to allow her to start supply shopping by herself. The condition was that she must carry pepper spray with her, and while she agreed to it, she hardly felt it would protect her against any magical attackers.

It wasn't like the Dark Lord could be prevented by just spraying pepper into the eyes—otherwise, people would have figured that one out ages ago.

She stood at the base of the Charles River, near the famed university that Martin Luther King Junior had attended. A pyramid shaped hotel across the river cast a most curious reflection into the water, and feeling slightly uncertain, Alice stepped onto the bridge, stalking out towards the center. Grabbing a penny—the American money only confused her slightly—she flicked it upwards, allowing it to fall towards the river.

"Horizant Alley!" Alice declared, seconds before the penny hit the river, sinking and leaving the smallest ripples behind.

The world began to bend, the muggles around her frozen in time. She remained still as everything rotated, until she was parallel with the water beneath her, the bridge hardly supporting her. The blue depths made no change, and Alice blinked, only to find herself falling downwards.

 _Bloody hell,_ Alice cursed, too stunned to even scream. Time moved quickly and slowly, and she plunged into the watery depths, only to be completely dry. Disoriented, she felt solid ground beneath her, and each way she looked, brownstones lined streets. All was normal—almost all.

Instead of the sky, the Charles River flowed above them—and through the reflection, she could see the bridge and the university above, packed with muggles. Her eyes wide, Alice had to pinch herself.

"Americans do have style after all," Alice whispered, shook out of her reverie by the jostling of a large crowd. Witches and wizards in smart cloaks rushed up and down the lanes, coming in and out of the brownstones with curiously shaped packages.

Dazed, Alice walked into the first shop she saw. A tiny building, a Vietnamese woman sat behind a counter, hemming away at numerous school uniforms. Alice couldn't even recognize them all—rather than having a few schools such as in Europe, there appeared to be thousands in America.

"I need these hemmed by the first," a meager witch explained. "I'm majoring in spells at Issaaquah."

 _Majoring? What on earth do they need to do that? Do they not have OWLs and NEWTs to take instead?!_ She held her tongue, gazing around the room, and in particular, a girl with dark black hair and a _Slytherin robe!_

Alice's eyes widened with fear and excitement, becoming more and more aware how possible it was to be terrible yet great. She hardly recognized the girl, though if her life depended on it, she would say the girl was a few years older.

"Miss Baines, are those robes to your liking?" the manager asked, as soon as the other client had finished paying and left the establishment.

"They are, thank you," the Slytherin answered, her voice void of an accent.

"Lovely! Well, Miss Baines, will that be all for you?"

"Please, call me Salem," the girl responded, grinning slyly. Alice couldn't help but scoff slightly at the name. It was entirely too popular in America among the magical population—but of course, she was rather thankful that her parents had named her Alice.

She didn't dare to even think of her middle name—now _that_ was a monstrosity.

"Alright, Salem—will you be needing anything else, dear?" the manager asked, accepting Salem's gold with a twinkling grin.

Salem shook her head. "No, but thank you so much—the robes in Diagon Alley are _terrible_. It's why I always make the trip back home—just for the robes."

The manager laughed. "You flatter me! Always nice to see you—take care, yes? I saw something in the _Wizarding Times_ about Black being on the loose again… Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"It'd ruin my robes," Salem joked, exiting the store with a wave.

Alice couldn't help but marvel at the fact that one of her housemates—no, Salem Baines—had been in the very same store in Horizant Alley. The odds were against it, and yet, it happened. _Maybe there is some such thing as fate… or destiny…_

"Excuse me, I need some robes for school," Alice coughed, catching the eye of the manager. "Slytherin. Hogwarts. Standard set of black work robes."

The manager frowned a bit, as if bludgeoned by Alice's words. Alice's eyebrows furrowed in confusion—wasn't specificity something craved here in America?

The manager snapped her fingers, and in a moment, a roll of measuring tape popped up into the air, taking each and every one of Alice's measurements. A quill then popped up as well, jotting down the relevant data.

"It'll be a minute," the manager said sourly, pointing her wand at a shelf in the back of the room. Clothing flew off of it, and somehow, it seemed like the robes read the information on the clipboard, and then, adjusted themselves. Alice watched eagerly—it was entirely different to how it was done in London! Everything there was done by hand.

This had removed the entire personal element behind buying robes—and she loved it.

"That was incredibly fast," Alice said in awe as the robes neatly folded themselves into a bag. "I have ten galleons… Will that cover it?"

The manager nodded, snatching the gold and exchanging the currency without a word. Alice didn't notice the tip jar bursting with coins, instead dropping her change into her bag, taking it, and departing the clothing store.

"Damn Brits," the manager swore.

Alice pretended not to hear.

* * *

Holding onto her list tightly, Alice passed by a small pet store, with kittens and lizards scrambling for attention at the window. She couldn't help but sigh slightly, thinking fondly of Elrond—he was at her grandmother's home in England, not being suited for traveling across the country to watch various plays, films, and sign photographs.

"Is that… a dragon?" Alice wondered, staring at a tiny Welsh green. It practically pranced in the window display, breathing fire at the other pets. A tiny notice on the wall noted that due to the second amendment, all wizards were permitted to own a dragon—providing that they had their papers in order.

Alice chuckled. It was obtusely American.

"You ain't ever seen a dragon before?" a bucktoothed boy chuckled, stalking his way over to Alice. "What are you, some sort of no-maj?"

"No," Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm British—we don't let people run around with dragons all the time."

The boy's eyes widened, seemingly mesmerized with the sound of Alice's voice. She had grown used to it from her time in America—everyone loved a good accent.

"My name's Samuel," the boy said, extending a hand. "Samuel Jacobson. I got to Illvermorny and…"

"Never gone across the pond before?" Alice teased. "I'm Alice Holmes—I attend Hogwarts."

The boy's eyes grew more and more wide. "I've seen you in movies before! You're—you're famous! That's wicked!"

She chuckled a bit, pretending to be embarrassed. The attention was glamorous, and she craved it, enjoying each adoration and every compliment. Her spirit soared as the boy went on and on about how his uncle enjoyed taking him to see muggle pictures and in one of those, Alice had played the daughter of one of the protagonists.

"Right, right, right… I did that with Marvel Studios once," Alice grinned, reminiscing on her brief work in a _Hulk_ movie.

Samuel reached into his pocket, pulling out a crinkled sheet of lined paper. It seemed almost entirely foreign for Alice, as in Hogwarts, everyone used parchment—but here, apparently, they used the same paper as those in muggle schools. He grabbed an inkless quill as well, and nervously handing it to Alice, asked her for her autograph.

"Of course," Alice promised, scrawling a signature with a grin. She had spent hours on creating an effectively illegible yet unique signature, hoping that it would help to catapult her way into fame. While she didn't have any interest in becoming a professional actress, she did enjoy fame.

Fame was almost everything to her. She wanted to be the very best—no matter what it took. If having a horrible signature would help to propel her to the top, so be it. She would do anything—even die—if it let her achieve her dreams.

"Thank you so much!" Samuel gushed. He looked at her in awe, before dashing off into the crowd without another word.

Alice blinked a bit, staring after where the boy had gone. It was peculiar to her that he hadn't said goodbye, or continued the conversation more—he had gotten an autograph and he left. A strange feeling enveloped her, and Alice uncomfortably glanced at the cats, lizards, and dragons in the window of the pet shop.

Shrugging the sensation off, Alice glanced at her list, gazing after the remaining supplies she had to find. For the most part, all she had left was to procure her textbooks. With relief, not a single Lockhart book was found on the list—they had spiked in popularity since his death. Tributes and memorial editions were produced, and for a hefty amount of galleons, people were touring his home, attempting to get to know the wizard behind the charming smile.

Alice didn't see the point in all of the sensation over Lockhart—if anyone wanted to know who he truly was, they needed to only ask his students from the previous year. There, they would realize what an idiotic and pompous person he truly was—how incompetent he was, unable to perform the simplest of charms.

A small stand on the corner contained a stack of newspapers, and predictably, Lockhart's face was on the cover. In an oddly amused mood, Alice gladly paid for one, turning through the pages of the _Wizarding Times._ Next to a lengthy article about Lockhart, a familiar face gazed out from the paper—it was Ginny Weasley.

Alice's stomach flipped, and in terror, she couldn't help but read the article. The Weasley family had won a significant prize from the lottery, and with the funds, Ginny had been transported to a research hospital in the United States. Her condition remained critical, unlikely to wake again.

A tear of relief fell from Alice's face. Ginny Weasley was not dead.

"Thank you," Alice whispered, folding up the newspaper and shoving it into her bag. It didn't stop the haunting photograph of the ginger girl from swimming into her mind—she had various contraptions hooked up to her, more muggle than magical. The odds that she would be returning to Hogwarts that year were slim.

The odds that she would live, as the article reported, were even slimmer.


End file.
